


at the end of a sleepless night

by prongs117



Category: Spinning Silver - Naomi Novik
Genre: F/M, reference to nonspecific past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 22:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21106886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prongs117/pseuds/prongs117
Summary: A wordless ritual of surreptitious touches in the dark, a fragile détente, that was all they had.





	at the end of a sleepless night

**Author's Note:**

> "...her eyes were the cold color of dawn at the end of a sleepless night." - Patricia A. McKillip, In the Forests of Serre

“Captain Gediminas was quite enraptured by you this evening,” Mirnatius said, holding a glass of brandy.

“Was he?”, asked Irina distractedly.

“Yes, he was,” he answered, a note of petulance creeping into his voice. “So were a dozen other men. But that’s nothing new. Our captain, however, is. He’s just come back from a mission in Svetia where I hear he acquitted himself quite admirably. As a mark of my gratitude, I thought I would invite him to court. Show him off a bit, you know. Maybe catch the eye of some bored duchess looking for a little excitement.”

“That’s nice of you.” It was clear Irina was not paying much attention to his words, busy on whatever letter she was writing. They did not usually spend time together outside of public and especially not at night when Irina would be busy reading letters and reports while he—well, he did whatever rich young men with little responsibility and more looks than brains usually did, which meant drinking and gambling and whoring. Not the last part though, never that one because he was secretly terrified at what Irina would do if she found out and because he had never really been tempted in that direction.

“Stop pretending you didn’t notice him. I was there and anyone could see it.” 

Irina sighed as she realized this was an argument they were going to have whether she wanted to or not. It had been that way lately and she didn’t quite know what it meant or if this was how they were going to be from now on. “Of course I saw him, Mirnatius. I’m not blind and he clearly intended to be noticed. But what of it? Your court is full of beautiful men.”

“And women, too.”

“Yes, women too. All beautiful and charming. You seem to have a knack for gathering them around you.”

“It’s not that hard when you’re the tsar.” He observed her plain unlovely face, so unlike the rest of his court and yet he could not imagine it without her either, with her silver crown and her pragmatic sensibility. “And you, as my tsarina, have your pick of them.”

So this was what he was getting at. She supposed she should be outraged but she was just tired. “I don’t want any of them.”

“Oh? None of them are as pleasing as your husband, I suppose?” That mocking tone again. 

“You know it’s not about that,” she said sternly.

“I forgot, you only want men with real power. A duke next time then. But I have to warn you, pickings will be very slim. Not enough dukes with all their teeth intact unless you don’t mind that sort of thing. Or I could invite some of those Frenchmen over, I hear they have impeccable—“

“Mirnatius, stop! Just…stop it.” She hadn’t intended to rise to his baiting but she also couldn’t just sit there and listen to that cruel leering voice.

“Irina—“ he said, rising up to lean over her writing desk, the firelight reflecting in his eyes. “Whatever it is you want from me, you won’t get it. But anyone here would be more than willing to give it to you. Didn’t you tell that demon you can manage your own desires? Well, it seems you need some help.“

She stood up to meet his eyes and remembered her confrontation with Chernobog wearing that same finely carved face. “I saved you from that demon because it devour you along with this whole kingdom, not because I wanted to sleep with you. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

He stepped nimbly to side, blocking her way. “Ah, but I don’t. Excuse you that is.” He raised his hand to touch her face and Irina flinched from the contact. It was the Staryk ring, that was all. The ring she placed on his hand herself. Mirnatius, misreading her reaction, dropped his hand abruptly. “On second thought, go. Leave.”

Normally she would have balked at being ordered around by him but at the moment she wanted nothing more than to leave that room and run away from that searing gaze that saw right through her but understood nothing at all.

Mirnatius spent the rest of his night getting drunk before finally crawling to bed in the early hours as the dawn chill started to creep in. They had taken to sharing a bed, him and the tsarina. He couldn’t remember who decided that but it silenced any gossip about fractures in their relationship especially given the noticeable lack of an heir. That might be because sleep was all they ever did there and he knew this arrangement couldn’t last long. They were going to have to have an heir sooner or later if they wish to keep their thrones and more importantly for Mirnatius, their heads. That meant _someone_ was going to have to sleep with the tsarina and as her husband, he was the obvious candidate. He had many reasons for keeping their marriage bed chaste but he could never tell her any of it and he wondered how long it would be before she gave up on him. 

She was curled up on her side as he turned aside the bed curtains, lit only by the flickering candle he carried with him. In this half-light and without those solemn gray eyes looking at him, he could almost imagine them coming together here and maybe even enjoying the act. But he knew the reality of Irina would destroy these comforting fantasies. He would never be able to pretend he was with anyone else, he would be with Irina and whatever happened he wouldn’t just be able to dismiss it in his usual flippant manner. That was how he knew it would never work, he would just embarrass himself and she would try to be sensible about it and that would only make matters worse.

He blew out the candle and slipped under the covers. After a while he inched closer to her side until he was close enough to smell the myrtle in her hair and the warmth of her skin. In the morning she would wake up and find herself in his arms and the ring that never seemed to hold any warmth would sear through her thin nightgown. She would not comment on it but slowly disentangle herself from his hold. Later he would rouse to an empty bed with only the memory of her closeness and the barest remembrance of a gentle hand on his face. A wordless ritual of surreptitious touches in the dark, a fragile détente, that was all they had. It wasn’t enough, it was barely holding them together but it wasn’t nothing either and it would have to do for now.


End file.
